As the Clock Ticks
by The Book Queen
Summary: A lot of things can happen over such a long time. And at the beginning, he would have never imagined that he could possibly end up like this.


**Well, this is my first Doctor Who fic. Honestly, it didn't really go as planned. I didn't plan on it being so... angsty and dark at the end. But, I like how it turned out.**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Doctor Who (although I wish I did).**

**Enjoy~**

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><p><em>When the clock strikes one<em>, he's grinning from ear to ear, absolutely excited for all the adventures to come. Reaching out and grabbing some sort of oddly shaped switch a couple of feet away, he laughs as his TARDIS speeds through the time vortex. She almost seems as eager to explore as he is. This, he decides, is going to be fun.

_When the clock strikes two,_ he's in London, 1778, standing in front of a well-dressed gentleman and his wife. It's the first time out of many that he's been asked a very simple question: "Doctor who?"

_When the clock strikes three, _he's clinging to the thin, swaying branches near the top of a tree on a planet a million light years away from Earth. Below him, a brown, black, and grey beast roars and rakes its ginormous, bus-sized claws across the base of the old evergreen, trying everything to get to him. His eyes shine bright with mischief and the thrill of danger makes the adrenaline pump though his veins at what seems like a thousand miles per hour. He's been called insane because of that love for dilemmas like this one. Maybe they're right, but he doesn't care.

_When the clock strikes four,_ he's struggling to ignore the loud (and annoying) cries of "hurry up!" as he sonics the lock of the door in front of him, grinning. Growing steadily and rapidly closer, a werewolf that's frothing at the mouth, awakened by the full moon, bounds towards them. To the people around him, he must look like a crazed maniac, gleeful for the life-threatening trouble speeding right at them.

"Here we go!" he exclaims, only to be shoved aside by several people, not even getting one thank you in the process.

_When the clock strikes five,_ he finds himself hanging upside down in a Vespiform hive near the center of the Silfrax Galaxy. Next to him, his companion gives him vicious glares, only to be interrupted when a particularly large wasp creature that leaves her shaking passes by. Unlike her, he only beams, delighted at the chance of seeing the species at work. Of course, when he tells the woman beside him, it earns him a stinging slap once the creature had flown away.

_When the clock strikes six,_ he brings a finger to his lips, signaling for absolute silence. The five other people in the clearing listen, watching him with wide, terrified eyes. Originally, their group consisted of eight, including him, but two have already been taken and devoured messily right before them. They probably could have gotten away unnoticed by the preoccupied beast, but then the clumsy member just happened to step on a couple of sticks which turned out to be tiny skeletons. That earned a couple screams from one of the elderly women and two beady yellow eyes staring them down, lighting up at the sight of more food.

_When the clock strikes seven,_ he thinks that it's finally happening. He's dying and going to heaven. With his eyes closed, he prepares to let go and drift off to the other side, but the familiar of pain of regeneration stops him. Maybe some other day, that won't save him, but today isn't one of those days.

_When the clock strikes eight, _he's helping a small, blond boy leap out of the detached freight train car they're in, the one that's dangling precariously off the edge of a cliff. A very frightening scraping sound causes him to tense his grip on the child in his arms. With a tiny whimper, the little boy looks up at him with dark, pleading eyes. The tears that shine in their corners makes the older man's hearts break, and, with one last breath, they jump just as the car behind them plummets down into the abyss.

_When the clock strikes nine,_ he's sitting at the center of a mess of wires and circuit boards and other computer parts, wondering how he'll find enough time to save all three thousand passengers of this ship. For the first time in a long time, he starts to feel despair take an icy grip on him and hopelessness bleed into his hearts as he frantically tinkers with the equipment around him. It's not enough. They're all going to die, and he can't save them.

_When the clock strikes ten,_ he wonders how exactly he found himself cornered in the den of a lion deep in the center of the African savannah. His suit is tattered and torn to pieces, and it's a miracle he has any clothes on him at all. Pressed up to the wall next to him, his companion gapes at the animal in front of her. How could she not? It really is a magnificent creature. If only it hadn't eaten the rest of the vacationers on the safari already…

_When the clock strikes eleven,_ he's standing with his back to the girl behind him. They've gotten in an argument and now both refuse to talk to one another. At first, it had only been curious questions from his companion. When he refused to answer, the girl tried to pry more, and he got angry and snapped at her. The silence between them quickly became icy and deafening, bordering on unbearable. But, he's not going to be the first one to say "sorry."

She's the one that started it, asking questions about things he swore he'd never talk about. Things he swore he'd never even _think_ about, things he wanted to forget. The ones that brought tears to his eyes and, if he faced his companion like this, he would break. But, the silence really is starting to get to him. He's about to voice his apology when someone interrupts him.

"I'm sorry."

_When the clock strikes twelve, _he knows that this is it. It's the universe's payback for that moment that damned him to hell. He's too weak to move, and he can feel the chilly darkness of death pulling at him like a string, gently easing him out of the world of the living. Maybe, all of that time ago, back at the beginning of his travels when hope still glimmered in his eyes, he would have fought to hold on to life a bit harder.

But that's so, so long ago, and all he wants now is the peace and quiet of death. Eyes closing, he takes a few shallow, shuddering breathes.

In, out… in, out… in… out…

Silence. There's no flash of gold, no explosion of energy. There's just silence, a stone cold, horrible silence.

It's the silence of a universe without the Doctor.


End file.
